


Wake Me When It's Over

by estelraca



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, alternate universe-some live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: Baze didn't ask to wake up after Scarif, but Bodhi and Jyn being there, too, make it harder to just turn over and pretend he didn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malachibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malachibi/gifts).



> For Malachibi, as the saddest almost-most-belated Christmas present ever. Thanks so much for enjoying it! I have not gotten to read the novelization of the movie yet, so apologies if anything is off from that.
> 
> Also I am participating in a fic auction to raise money for charities! So if you like this or any of my writing and want some specifically tailored to you, go check out my Tumblr (also estelraca) for details. Basically $1=100 words, up to $20=2000 words, with the money going to charities to try to keep my country from burning down around my ears. I'm offering 4 fics of up to 2000 words monthly.

_Wake Me When It's Over_

Baze wakes up.

He wasn't expecting it.

He didn't _want_ it.

The first thing he tries to do is pull the breathing tube from his mouth. Chirrut is dead. The Empire killed him, and if Baze is waking up, it's because the Imperials want something more from him. They think they can use him to get to the rebels.

All they'll get is his fury.

Assuming he can manage to get himself free of all the restraints they've laced him in, and out of this opaque muck he's stuck in.

There are wires attached to his arms, and something cool flows through them. Baze's arms stop obeying his commands, and he floats for two, three, four seconds before darkness closes over him again.

That's all right. He likes the darkness better.

XXX

The second time he wakes is a slower process.

At first he doesn't remember anything. There is just soft light, shining on his eyelids, and someone humming a quiet song next to his bed.

"Chirrut." Baze slurs the name, his tongue feeling too thick for his mouth. "Still can't sing worth a damn."

"I'm..." It's a woman's voice that answers. A young woman, familiar, but with the familiarity comes fear, so Baze shies away from the memories that contain her name. "I'm not Chirrut."

Baze grunts out an affirmative. Clearly she isn't.

He's tired, and the light is pleasant but not demanding, and Baze drifts into the darkness again, hoping that when he wakes things will be right.

XXX

The third time Baze wakes, he does so with intact memory and full consciousness.

Someone is sitting by his bed again. He can hear them fiddling with something mechanical, turning it over, probing it with tools from a box sitting beside them. Funny—it was Chirrut who lost his sight, but Baze has become just as attuned to non-visual cues as his love over the years.

Chirrut is dead.

The knowledge—or rather the _acknowledgment_ of the knowledge, letting it into his perception of the universe—is a hammer-blow to his gut, and Baze curls up around the impact despite his intention to stay still and quiet while he figures out where he is and what's happening.

Chirrut is dead, and Baze aches too much to be anything but alive.

"Baze?" The man sitting beside his bed has a soft voice—a familiar voice—and the hand that reaches out to touch Baze's shoulder is gentle. "Medic! Medic, I need, there's—"

Baze grabs the hands on his shoulder, twisting the man's arm down and around, pulling him into a headlock. He's not as ferocious as he could be—as he _should_ be, if he wants... if he wants...

If he wants what?

For them to shoot him?

They won't do that. If anything they'll probably just sedate him again, and Bodhi's been through enough.

Baze releases Bodhi's arm, falling back limp on the medical cot that's holding him.

"Baze? Baze? Please, don't be—" Bodhi's frantic patter of words trails off as he comes to hover over Baze's face. He waves the fingers of the hand that Baze didn't assault in tentative greeting. "H-hi."

Baze draws in breath to grunt out a response, but it's too much work. Instead he just closes his eyes, hoping Bodhi will go away.

Rather than being left in peace, though, another person comes. Bodhi asks them to leave before they can start poking and prodding at Baze, apologizing and reassuring them that everything's fine. _That_ earns a snort of derision from Baze. Everything is most decidedly not fine.

For a minute, maybe two, they just sit in silence. Baze can hear the sound of Bodhi's breathing, too shallow and fast still—he's scared. Or uncomfortable, at least. Nervous, maybe, about what he's going to have to tell Baze. As though Baze doesn't already know.

"You know, then." Bodhi's voice trembles. "At least about Chirrut."

Baze opens his eyes, studying Bodhi more closely. The right side of the man's face was burned sometime during the firefight. It's been patched up, but not quick enough. He'll carry a few scars with him for the rest of his life. "I know. I saw."

He held Chirrut while Chirrut breathed his last. He was able to do that much for the man who always held enough faith for them both.

"I'm sorry." Bodhi looks down at his hands. "I know it's not much, and it doesn't change anything, and it probably sounds awful right now, but... I'm sorry. He was kind to me."

"He was kind... to a lot of people." Baze swallows, his gaze staring straight up at the ancient rock and criss-crossing wires of this rebel outpost. The statement isn't entirely true. Or... it's not the entire _truth_. Chirrut was kind to people, yes, more kind than someone in their situation had any right to be, but he could also be brutal in acknowledging what they didn't want acknowledged.

_You see far too much for a blind man._ How often has Baze heard that phrase hissed or spat out like a curse?

Pressing a hand to his chest, Baze tries to analyze his own condition. There is a gaping hole at his core, an emptiness where his home and his faith and Chirrut are supposed to be, but otherwise he feels... surprisingly whole. "Where are we?"

A new face looms into view, halting footsteps coming up on the opposite side of Baze from where Bodhi sits. Jyn. Another one that Chirrut was kind to, and Baze is glad she survived, too, even if it does nothing to help him. "Rebel medical facility. I figured the one causing trouble would have to be you."

"I haven't caused any trouble." Baze's protest is flat, and he tries to turn his head so that he's not stuck looking up at Jyn's concerned expression. That means he's looking at Bodhi, though, as the pilot massages feeling into the hand that Baze twisted, and that's really not any better. "Why are you two here?"

"Rebel medical facility." Bodhi shrugs, one of his hands pointing towards his face. He nods across at Jyn. "Jyn was pretty banged up, too."

Jyn's expression hardens, all emotion wiped away. Baze knows the trick. It just means whatever's underneath hurts too much to face. At least while you're vulnerable.

Baze should ask about the others. He should ask about Cassian, about K-2SO, about Cassian's friends who volunteered for the mission with them.

He already knows the answer, he thinks, and he's not sure he can stomach it, so he stays silent.

"Cassian..." Jyn trails off, her voice fading into a husky whisper. Then she straightens her spine, starting again, reciting the words as though they were a list of supplies. "Cassian died. K-2SO died. Mel—"

Baze stops paying attention to the individual names. Maybe Chirrut would have kept everyone straight, but Baze usually didn't bother unless he knew they were going to work together again in the future. He has only a vague notion which of the scarred, eager faces went with the names Jyn is reciting.

He doesn't need to. By the time she's done reciting the list of the dead, Baze knows they're all gone.

"We were it?" Baze's voice comes out quieter than he would like. "We're the only ones who got out?"

Bodhi nods, his whole body hunched in. "Of the original infiltration team, yes. Some of the ones who came to support us, the X-wing and U-wing pilots... a few of them made it, too."

Jyn's expression is utterly empty, and Baze knows there's more to the story than just the list of names. Did she watch Cassian die? Did she watch K-2SO be destroyed beyond hope of recovery?

Chirrut would reach out. Chirrut would take her hand and tell her that they are all one in the Force.

Chirrut is dead, and Baze has never been as strong or good as Chirrut. He just lies on his medical cot, staring up at the ceiling.

Bodhi's hand reaches out, claiming Baze's right one in a tentative embrace.

Jyn's reaches out a moment later, holding Baze's left tight.

Against his better judgment, almost against his will, Baze's fingers hold tight to them, spots of warmth in a room that has become far too cold.

XXX

Bodhi is the most mobile out of the surviving Rogue One members, but he doubts most of the other members of the medical base would believe that. Jyn badly damaged one of the... ligaments? Tendons? Muscles? Bodhi has never been terribly good at human anatomy. Whatever part of the leg is supposed to act like a pulley to move it forward and backward, Jyn hurt hers, resulting in a lot of physical therapy.

Not that it's really slowed Jyn down. Despite protests and dire warnings from the medical personnel, Jyn made it her mission to check on the other surviving members of Rogue One at least once a day, hobbling from bed to bed. Eventually they figured out it was easier to just move Jyn closer to the two of them.

Baze... Baze could probably walk, now. Though he was in rough shape when they got in, bacta treatment and more injections that Bodhi wants to think about seem to have healed most of the physical injuries. He still doesn't do much, though, spending the majority of the day lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Sometimes he'll just ignore the food trays that are placed on or near him. Sometimes he'll throw them back at the person who brought them—usually without actually moving his eyes from their fixed point on the ceiling.

Occasionally he eats. Sometimes because Bodhi asked him; more often because Jyn commands him to.

Bodhi should probably find something else to do besides sit by Baze's bed. To be fair he's also tried sitting by Jyn's bed. And people keep bringing him little mechanical problems to work on, some of which he actually knows how to fix—no pilot is _completely_ unaware of how their ships work, not if they want to survive—and a lot of which he just fiddles with for a while before giving up.

It's when he's been toying with his newest problem capacitor for about an hour that Baze actually speaks. At first Bodhi doesn't understand what's happening. Even when Baze chooses to do something, he's been quiet.

"I asked..." Baze's voice is rough and raspy with disuse. "If you'll tell me what happened."

"Oh." Bodhi's hands grip the little piece of metal in his hand tight. "Ah... I can, if you want. Though I don't know everything."

"You know more than me right now." Baze's lips press together, each word sounding heavy, as though he's having to force it out. "I'd like to change that."

"We told you that we won. Which we did. We got the Death Star plans. They were even useful—some crazy pilot managed to make the shot and blow it up." Bodhi tries to remind himself of that daily, if he can. Despite everything, they succeeded in stopping the monsters from destroying planets. (They couldn't save Alderaan, just like they couldn't save Cassian and Chirrut, but they did _something_. They did _something_. He has to remember that.)

"I don't care about that." Baze's fists clench slowly and then release. "Tell me what happened on Scarif. Tell me what happened to everyone."

"Oh." Bodhi's hand reaches up to touch his face. It won't be so bad, really. Just a few scars. Every soldier needs a few scars to remind them of their stories, right? That's what rebels keep telling him as they pat him on the back and bring him things to work on. "I don't... know all of it. What happened with Chirrut—"

"He did what you needed." Baze's hand grips the edge of the medical cot, his knuckles white. His eyes keep staring straight up, though. "I know what happened with him. I was there. The others..."

"I didn't see what happened with K-2SO. It was when Cassian and Jyn were getting the plans. K-2SO was guarding their escape and giving them information. They didn't know, either, until..." Bodhi swallows, his own voice too thick, his accent too strong. If he's going to tell these stories, he wants to do it well. He gives himself a few moments to breathe before trying again. "K-2SO didn't tell them he was under attack until it was too late. He'd sustained too much damage. They had to leave him behind, but Jyn said he was already gone when they did."

Silence stretches between them, Bodhi watching Baze's face to see whether or not he should keep talking.

Baze closes his eyes, his chest moving in a simple, steady rhythm that isn't quite natural. It's a meditation rhythm, Bodhi realizes after counting for a few rotations, and he finds himself looking away. (It shouldn't feel like invading, to see some proof that Chirrut was right—that Baze once knew the same techniques the Force-monk did. It does, though, and Bodhi doesn't want to take what hasn't been offered.)

"Cassian." Baze's voice is devoid of emotion. "Tell me about Cassian."

"Cassian..." Bodhi's hand returns to his cheek. "Let me back up. Chirrut got us in contact with the fleet. The fleet took down the shield, and Jyn sent the message. Cassian protected her, but he... he was shot. Plasma bolt to the belly, and after that he fell, took damage that way too."

_Gut shot,_ Cassian had whispered when Jyn guided his staggering form into the shuttle. _I'm not going to last much longer, Jyn. I'm already in shock._

_People in shock are bad at making predictions or logical conclusions, right?_ Jyn had stripped off the hasty field dressing that was keeping a small ocean of blood inside Cassian's body as she spoke.

"Jyn got him off the tower. I..." Why can't he seem to keep his fingers away from his face? "There was an explosion. Our shuttle was damaged. I was hurt. But I survived, and I started trying to jury-rig the shuttle. They had said it was our only way home, after all."

_Get us out of here, Bodhi!_ Jyn had barked out the order, her lips a deep red when compared to Cassian's ghost-grey face.

_The others..._ Everyone who had stayed with Bodhi was already dead, their corpses mixed with those of stormtroopers to form a funny kind of lattice outside. A lattice where the stormtrooper armor seemed to burst into sudden white fire as light stabbed down from the heavens, a blazing pillar.

_We'll look for them, but go!_ Jyn's eyes had been so wide, reflecting the fire that would consume them all if Bodhi didn't do something soon.

"We found you. A few others. None of our original crew." Bodhi swallows. "We found... what was left of Chirrut's body. We brought home his staff but thought... you wouldn't mind the fire taking him."

A rumbling sound that could be a growl or could be a groan of agony comes from Baze. After a few seconds his hand unclenches from the edge of the cot to wave for Bodhi to continue.

"I've never flown like that in my life." Bodhi's hands start shaking just at the memory. "We had to get away. They were doing to Scarif what they'd done to Jedha. And there were so many Imperials in orbit... I thought for sure we were going to die. But we didn't. We made it."

It sounds so simple when he puts it like that. _They made it_. There's none of the second-by-second terror, the horror as he watched other rebel ships fall, the gut-clenching nausea as he punched in the hyperspace drive and prayed the cabin would hold together...

Baze gives him time. The big man's eyes have shifted, watching Bodhi without blinking, but he doesn't demand that Bodhi hurry up. He doesn't ask again what happened. He just waits patiently, and eventually Bodhi is able to gather himself and continue on.

"Cassian and you were the two hurt worst. We thought we'd lost you once or twice, but you just kept on breathing."

Baze's face clenches tight, and Bodhi knows the big man wishes he hadn't.

"Cassian... he was conscious right up to the end." Bodhi swallows against the lump forming in his throat. "Jyn sat with him. Kept telling him he would be all right. Cassian knew he was dying, though. I guess when you've seen enough other people die... he tried so hard not to scare her. His body was shaking, and I don't think he could see, but he still tried so hard..."

Bodhi closes his eyes, flashes of that terrible hyperspace flight flashing through his mind.

_Don't go._ Jyn begged, though she didn't cry. _We're going home. We have to go home together._

_Do you think... the dead..._ Cassian's accent had thickened as his breathing grew more shallow, his skin steadily paler. _Everything I did—for the rebellion—_

_For the rebellion. For hope._ If sheer brute force could have kept Cassian with them, Jyn's grip on his hand would have done it. _Always for a good cause, even if what you had to do was terrible._

Cassian had barely been able to breathe then, each rasping inhale harder than the one before. _I'm sorry. Jyn. I'm sorry._

_No need to be sorry._ Jyn glanced towards Bodhi, looking for confirmation, consolation, conciliation, Bodhi doesn't know.

_No need._ Bodhi's not sure Cassian could even hear him from the pilot's seat, but he had to say something anyway.

_Scar... scare..._ Bodhi doesn't know, still, what words Cassian was really trying to say then, as the bacta patch and Jyn's other first aid attempts finally lost their battle. Scarif? Scared? Scars?

He knows what Cassian said after, though. Glancing up at Baze, Bodhi clears his throat once more. "When he died... right before he passed... the last thing he said was _Chirrut_. He looked so... so relieved when he said it, too. Like someone who's just gotten an unexpected hug from a friend. I know it was probably just a hallucination or something, but... I thought you'd want to know. That you _should_ know."

Baze doesn't say anything, and Bodhi forces his eyes to rise from his hands to Baze's face.

Baze is crying. Or... perhaps that's not the right word for it. Tears are rolling down Baze's face, matting his eyelashes together, dampening his hair. His chest doesn't heave, though, his breathing still maintaining the same steady rhythm it's had.

"Baze...?" Bodhi's voice is a quiet whisper.

Baze's left hand rises, the one on the opposite side of the cot from where Bodhi is sitting. It crashes down onto the cot, a bare-handed strike that makes the whole structure rattle. Again, and again, and—

Jyn grabs Baze's hand, holding it tight, interrupting the cycle before Bodhi can decide what he should do.

Baze turns to study her, tears still falling unnoticed from his eyes.

"Steady there." Jyn's voice is calm, belying the trembling of her hands.

"Chirrut?" Baze exhales the name—the question, the request, the prayer.

Jyn looks between Bodhi and Baze. The knuckles of her hand turn white where she's gripping Baze's, though her eyes seem to soften. "Chirrut."

Baze turns his gaze back to the ceiling, and now his breathing is rough and ragged, as Bodhi would expect from someone crying.

Baze's right hand turns over, and after a moment's hesitation Bodhi takes it between his two hands, feeling small and helpless.

"So, Rogue One." Jyn studies Baze before lifting her eyes to meet Bodhi's. "What do you two think about us getting another mission?"

XXX

"Jyn, I don't think—"

Jyn takes a step closer to Mon Mothma, ignoring the slightly panicked guard who tries to put his hand in front of her chest. "You can see our medical reports. We're all fit to return to duty."

Mothma raises her hand at the guard, who stands down with a look of intense relief. "Walk with me, Jyn."

Jyn falls into step at the... senator's? Leader's? At the woman's side, being very careful to keep her steps even. She only limps now if she's not paying attention, and this isn't a time when she can afford to do that. "Thank you."

"I think talking to you is the least I can do." Mon Mothma actually smiles, an expression that always ends up being gentler than Jyn expects. "We owe you and the rest of Rogue One medals for what you did. Even if it _was_ technically a very illegal mission."

"I think when the admiral showed up it became a very legal mission." Jyn's lip curls, and she forces it to lie flat again. She's not here to argue the logistics of when and where to do what's right. She's here to spring her people from the prison the medical bay has become.

"Certainly a very essential one. If not for you and yours, we'd have lost a lot more than Alderaan by now." Mon Mothma's shoulders slump just a bit as she says the name of the lost planet. "Thanks to you, we've been able to destroy one of the Empire's greatest weapons, bringing renewed hope to all the galaxy."

"We did what was right." Jyn forces her hands to stay flat at her side, not allowing them to clench into fists. (Not allowing them to reach for a hand that isn't there. She can't allow herself to think of Cassian now, his eyes bright with hope and fragile determination as he asked her how many men she would need.) "Nothing more, nothing less."

"That's often the very hardest thing to do." They've come to a set of stairs, and the older woman stops, turning to face Jyn. "I know what happened on Scarif must have been traumatizing."

"Lots of people died. Lots more are going to die." Jyn stares directly into the other woman's eyes, keeping her voice firm and calm. "You need all the able-bodied fighters you can get."

"I do. The rebellion does." Mothma's eyes drop to Jyn's injured leg. "Despite treatment, I'm told you'll only ever achieve seventy-five percent of previous mobility in that leg. You're doing a remarkable job hiding it, Jyn, but are you sure—"

"Seventy-five's all I really need, don't you think?" Jyn's hands clasp together behind her back. "It's still better than a lot of these guys at a hundred percent."

Mothma's lips press into a thin line. "Bodhi sits in a chair fiddling with electronics that people bring him all day."

"Very useful, ma'am, wouldn't you say?" Jyn raises her chin a bit. "Doing something for the rebellion even during his convalescence."

A sigh slides out of Mothma's mouth. "And Baze has been physically attacking his medics despite supposedly being fully recovered from his injuries."

"He had a little nervous tic. Neurologic side-effect of the bacta and the almost dying. Hasn't happened in over forty-eight hours, though." Not since Jyn suggested the three of them try to get out together, Rogue One back in the field where they belong. "I think you'll find it doesn't happen again."

"Jyn..." Jyn had expected the politician to be frustrated with her, maybe a little annoyed, but that's not what she hears in Mothma's voice. She hears _fear_ , she thinks, and grief—more of both than what she had heard when the Senate turned down Jyn's request for aid. "Tell me truthfully. Are you trying to get me to send the three of you out to die?"

Jyn considers the question carefully. Do they want to die? If they did, then they could easily find ways to kill themselves. Not wanting to _live_ isn't quite the same as wanting to die, right? "We want to do our jobs, ma'am. We want to be useful."

Mothma takes a step back, her gaze running up and down Jyn's form. "I can appreciate martyrs, Jyn. I've known... far too many of them over the years, it seems. But I don't appreciate being used as a means to an end."

"We just want to be a team!" Jyn can feel her composure slip, but she's not quite able to pull it back in place fast enough. "We want to be doing something. You're the one who made us—the one who sent me to Jedha, who told me to find out what my father had been doing. If anything I did mattered at all, if it made _any_ bit of difference, then give me this. Give me my team, and give us a mission."

Mon Mothma draws a long breath, and Jyn doesn't know if she's ever seen anyone look so tired. "That's what you want from me in recompense?"

"I know the rebellion doesn't have a lot of money to spare, and pretty medals don't really mean that much to any of us. Well... Bodhi probably wouldn't say no to a medal. He likes anyone telling him he did a good job, and there's not much better for saying that than a medal. But really, if you want to thank us..." Jyn lifts her chin once more, staring into Mothma's eyes, daring her to say no. (If she does what will Jyn do? Run away? She's not even sure where they are. Somewhere the rebels think is safe; somewhere Mothma is able to travel to, a political trip to congratulate those who have sacrificed some major part of life or limb for the rebellion. Jyn's gotten out of worse prisons with less information.) "Use us."

Closing her eyes, Mon Mothma raises a hand to touch the bridge of her nose. "You swear to me the three of you will simply try to complete the missions? That you won't do anything to needlessly endanger yourselves or others?"

"We'll complete the mission. Whatever it takes." Jyn swallows. "I think Scarif showed that nicely."

"If that's what you want." Mothma's hand falls to her side. "I can't force you to stay here. You're not prisoners, Jyn. You're heroes."

There doesn't seem to be much difference between the two some days. But that's probably just bitterness talking, so Jyn keeps the words locked behind her teeth.

"And if this is what you want..." Mothma waves Jyn back the way she came. "Tell your men that I'll see what I can find for you."

"Soon, ma'am?" Jyn's heart seems to pound harder in her chest.

"As soon as I can. A mission that fits your skill sets, that isn't a suicide run but that can do some good. I promise." Mothma turns away, her hand sliding along the stairway wall as she ascends away from Jyn. "May the Force be with all of us going forward."

Jyn mumbles out an agreement, already turning on her heel to march—well, limp—back to the others.

They're getting a mission. They're going to _do_ something.

Maybe that'll mean she can finally stop thinking. It never was her strong suit anyway.

XXX

"We've fucked up." Bodhi's hands tremble visibly as they skitter over the shuttle's controls. "We have fucked up _so badly_."

"Just get the bird in the air, Bodhi." Jyn tries to sound reassuring, though she's pretty sure she sounds more desperate as she fires from the partial cover of the shuttle door. "We haven't fucked anything up."

"We're being _shot_ at! Again!" The shuttle is slowly coming to life under Bodhi's hands. Hair-raising laughter comes from outside the shuttle, dark and ugly. One of Bodhi's hands leaves the control to stab back vaguely in her direction. "And Baze is doing _that_! And everything is—"

"Going to be just fine." Jyn leans out the door, sniping a stormtrooper who had been foolish enough to step out of cover. "Baze, get your ass in the shuttle!"

Baze turns to look at her, and Jyn's blood runs cold. For one moment she's certain he's going to say no—tell her that he doesn't want to, that he doesn't have to, that this is the ground he's going to choose to die on.

It would be a very _stupid_ thing to do, but maybe all three of them are being very stupid right now, because Jyn dives for the other side of the shuttle doors. Sniping another stormtrooper, she hollers out at Baze again. "Get into the shuttle, big brother! I'm guarding your back!"

Baze's head tilts. He takes out another three storm troopers, leaning away from the mound of frozen foodstuffs that has been serving as his barricade. Jyn hopes the food wasn't needed by anyone other than stormtroopers.

Then Baze breaks cover, running pell-mell for the ship after spraying a deadly swath in front of him with his cannon. Jyn lays down as much cover fire as she can, but a shot still clips Baze's shoulder as he catapults through the door. He tumbles down to the ground, skidding on his stomach as Jyn slams her hand repeatedly on the button to close the shuttle doors.

_Not again._ The phrase seems to beat in her skull in time to her heart. _Please, not again_.

Baze groans as he sits up. "It's all right. They aimed too high. I'm not _that_ tall. Think the armor took most of the blast."

Jyn finds herself sinking down to the floor, confirming with her own eyes and hands what Baze is saying. "Good. That's good. Bodhi, why aren't we in the air?"

"Because the hangar doors are still closed." Bodhi turns back to look at them, his eyes wide. "If those doors don't open, we're trapped. They'll be able to take the shuttle and us apart at their leisure."

"Ren saw what was happening. They'll get the doors open." Jyn speaks with more confidence than she feels. "It's going to be all right."

Bodhi's whole body is shaking, now, but he doesn't protest. He just turns back to his controls, watching the hatch with those wide, trusting eyes.

When it opens, Jyn grins wide. "All right, Bodhi. Your turn to show us your stuff. Get us—"

The rest of Jyn's statement can't quite get through her teeth, Bodhi powering the ship forward faster than its grav unit can compensate for.

Jyn's hand inches out to the side, coming into contact with Baze's where he's pressed against the wall next to her.

His fingers close over hers, and though he doesn't smile, the fact that he's still here—that they're _all_ still here—makes Jyn think this wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

XXX

"That could have gone better." Bodhi settles down on Baze's other side as soon as they're safely in hyperspace.

"Could have gone worse." Jyn shrugs. "We all got out of there. Killed a few stormtroopers. Picked up the information we were supposed to."

Bodhi leans forward so he can look at her over Baze's bulk, trying to gauge how serious she's being. "We blew our contact's cover, Jyn. What was supposed to be a simple courier expedition turned into... _that_."

" _That_ wasn't our fault." Jyn's free hand rubs at her injured leg.

"It was our fault. We made a complete hash of the whole assignment." Bodhi's hands cup in front of his mouth, and he closes his eyes. "I don't know if we should have done this."

"What, you'd prefer to sit things out in some damn medical bay?" Jyn snorts. "This is better by far."

"Not if we end up hurting our allies, it's not." Bodhi turns to face her again, strands of black hair hanging down to frame his earnest eyes. "I want to _help_ people, Jyn. Not kill them."

"The only people we killed were stormtroopers." Baze frees his hand from Jyn's so that he can work his armor off, revealing a minor burn on his shoulder.

"And because they're stormtroopers—because they're Imperials—it doesn't matter?" Bodhi's lips press together. " _I_ was an Imperial until two months ago. One with rebel sympathies, but an Imperial."

"If you were in a set of stormtrooper armor, threatening me or other innocents, I would have killed you too." Baze pokes at the burn on his shoulder until Bodhi grabs his hand.

Bodhi turns Baze's fingers over, feeling the callouses. He swallows, trying to find words. "What you did out there... it was impressive. And I'm glad you got us all out alive. But it was also... it was horrifying. It _should be_ horrifying."

Baze frowns, but he doesn't pull his hand away. "If you don't want to kill, little brother, then you don't sign up for a war."

"There isn't any signing up for this one. It's just _here_ , whether you want to participate or not. And we have to find the best way to help." Bodhi draws a deep breath, trying to steel his courage to ask what he needs to ask. "Were you trying to die back there, Baze? Did you _want_ the stormtroopers to get you?"

Baze looks down at their entwined fingers, and his voice is a whisper when he finally speaks. "I never asked you two to take me off Scarif."

"You wanted to die." Bodhi's hands start shaking again, but it's long past time they had this conversation. "You wanted to die with Chirrut."

"No." Baze shakes his head, the vehemence in the motion surprising Bodhi. "I wanted to die _instead_ of Chirrut. _I_ should have been the one to go out. I should have been the one to get cut down there. Not him. Never him."

Bodhi doesn't know what to say, so he just holds Baze's hand tighter.

"I should have died, too." Jyn has her head resting on her knees. "If the universe, the Force, whatever you want to call it... if it were fair. If one of us were going to fall and one of us continue with the rebellion, it should have been Cassian who walked away and me who died."

"Jyn—" Bodhi reaches for her with his free hand.

Jyn takes the hand, her thumb smoothing over the back of his trembling fingers. "I'm not saying I want to die, Bodhi. Just that... Cassian had everything to live for. He was in the rebellion pretty much his whole life. He knew what he was doing. Me... I'm either a glorified smuggler or a second-rate mercenary. All I've done with my life is run and try not to look up to see who's chasing me."

Bodhi glances at Baze, watching the way the larger man's mouth turns down in a contemplative frown. Is Jyn trying to do what Bodhi thinks she is? Running his tongue over his lips, Bodhi adds his own story to the mix. "I should have died, too. If we're trading ourselves for someone who deserved it more, then Galen should be the one sitting here, not me. Galen was brilliant. Kind. Smart enough to see immediately what the Empire was. They had to coerce him into working for them, while me... and he could have _done_ something. He could have... well, he probably wouldn't have made weapons for the rebellion, but he could have made defensive shields, medical advances... a thousand other advances. Whereas me... I'm a shuttle pilot. Not even a fighter pilot."

"That's not..." Baze has them each by a hand, now, is holding them tight. His chest moves in what looks like a sigh but comes out a growl. "Chirrut was the one who _believed_ , still. Even after all they did, all they took from us, he could still sense the Force. The _light_ of the Force. Whereas me... all I see when I try to connect to the Force is emptiness. Death. Despair. He told me..." Baze's eyes shut, his chest heaving this time with sobs that don't have tears. "He said to look to the Force, that he'd be there. And maybe I saw it, for a moment, on Scarif. But now..."

"Maybe..." Bodhi hesitates, and then shakes his head. "No. I don't know anything about the Force. I won't even pretend to try to tell you about it. But I'm... maybe it's selfish, but I'm glad you're alive. I'm glad we didn't lose _everyone_. And I... if we can help _you_ be glad you're alive..."

"That's a pretty tall order." Baze leans his head back against the shuttle wall, his breathing evening out. "But if it makes you feel better, little brother... little sister... I promise I won't do anything to intentionally get myself killed or left behind."

Jyn lifts Baze's hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Every day you're alive is another day the Empire hasn't won. Another day they haven't snuffed out the memory of the temple, or the brotherhood, or... or Chirrut."

Baze closes his eyes, his breathing once more taking on the meditative rhythm Bodhi has seen before.

"Plus..." Biting down on his bottom lip, Bodhi glances at Jyn. "We owe it to the rebellion. To the people we're working with. If we just want to get ourselves killed, then we're dangerous to our allies. Allies who want to live, and make a better world, and... and I want to help them find it. I've never known anything but the Empire, and if we can have a world even half as good as what Galen and Cassian imagined..."

"I don't know if we can." Baze releases Bodhi's hand to clap him on the shoulder. "But I'll do what I can to keep you alive to find out."

"Thank you." Bodhi smiles. "I really—"

Something starts beeping on the console, and Bodhi leaps towards it.

Finally getting the others to talk and make plans won't be worth much if Bodhi gets them all killed in some kind of stupid hyperspace accident.

XXX

"Your team is a disaster."

Jyn bristles, glaring at the young woman on the other side of the desk. "There is nothing wrong with my team."

"Your team just blew the covers of three of our undercover agents on what should have been a routine mission." Leia Organa is standing, leaning towards Jyn, her hands fisted and resting on the desk. "Do you have a good explanation for the debacle you caused?"

Jyn refuses to be intimidated by someone she's _fairly_ certain she's older than. Leia being royalty doesn't matter. "We completed the mission. We got the information and the cargo off planet."

"Do you have any idea how long Ren worked to get into that position?" Leia's face is contorted in a vicious snarl. "All sacrificed because you three trigger-happy goons had to take out a few stormtroopers. Mon Mothma gave you this mission personally because you assured her—"

"We didn't do anything wrong!" Jyn's nostrils flare as she takes a step towards Leia. Maybe they had done a few things they shouldn't have. Maybe Baze had been a little quick to start murdering Imperials when the opportunity presented itself, and Jyn hadn't exactly tried to stop him. But they _did_ complete the mission, and Jyn doesn't want to hear anyone bad-mouthing her team.

"You didn't do anything wrong? Oh really?" Leia calls up a holovid, and Jyn winces at the footage that plays.

Baze is laughing, his lips pulled back in an expression that Jyn thinks looks grief-stricken but that she suspects others would say looks frightening. It looks like footage from a security camera, but it has to have been doctored in some way, because Jyn knows the people Baze mowed down were stormtroopers rather than civilians.

"That's not what happened." Jyn points at the images. "Ren and the others must have told you that's not what happened."

"Does it matter at this point?" Leia's finger stabs out, stopping the display. "Look at you three. They didn't need to change much to make you look like half-mad monsters."

"Stop insulting my team." Jyn takes another step towards the princess. "Or so help me—"

"You'll attack me?" Leia's eyes seem to spark. "I'm not as soft as you might think, commander. You gave Mon Mothma your _word_. You promised her that you weren't going to try to get yourselves killed."

Jyn draws a shaking breath. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Not about what else we did. It's about disappointing Mon Mothma."

Leia rolls her eyes, suddenly looking more her age. "It's not _just_ about that, but it certainly doesn't help your case. We have a problem, Jyn Erso."

"We have many problems." Jyn gives a mirthless smile. "Many of them wear white armor, but some call themselves emperor and others—"

"We have a problem with your team." Leia crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you all medically discharged."

"There are several good reasons. One being you need every able-bodied fighter you can get." Jyn also crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Another being that we'd still fight, you just wouldn't know what we were doing, and we could get in each other's way."

Leia grimaces. "I'd rather have us getting in each other's way than have you sabotaging missions because you've got some kind of insane death wish."

"It's not an insane death wish." Jyn slices down with her right hand in a gesture of negation. "So our first mission was a little rough. We're used to there being six of us, not three. We'll adapt. We know better than to use the rebellion as a means to a dramatic suicide. It's not fair to everyone who actually wants to survive this war, and despite everything for some reason we _do_ care about being fair."

Narrowing her eyes, Leia walks in a tight circle around Jyn. "How are we supposed to trust you after this, Erso?"

"How do you trust Solo?" Jyn doesn't deign to follow Leia's motions with her eyes. "Word is he's a smuggler and a thief and a pathological liar."

"He helped bring down the Death Star." A hint of color touches Leia's cheeks. "I think he's proven himself."

"My team has proven itself." Jyn allows herself the tiniest smirk. "Without the plans we got from Scarif, there would have been no hope against the Death Star."

"And did you leave all your sense down on Scarif, too? Let it be annihilated along with the Imperial records?"

"No, just our better halves." Jyn closes her eyes, immediately regretting the words. She tries to turn them into a joke. "Well, maybe not Bodhi. Bodhi's probably destined to be someone's better half."

Leia has come to a stop just to Jyn's right, her eyes searching Jyn's face. "Just because you lost someone, Erso, doesn't mean you get to act like an idiot."

"No, ma'am." Jyn swallows. "As I said before, there were extenuating circumstances. And maybe... a bit of martyr complex, on some of our parts. But we talked about it amongst ourselves, like you said. We want to stay Rogue One. And we want to stay useful. Just like our dead would have wanted."

Leia turns away from Jyn, her fingers drumming on the desk. "I understand being angry, you know. I understand wanting to do something with that anger. But you have to control the anger, not the other way around. And the same goes for your team."

"I know. We all know." Jyn shifts uneasily. Everyone is aware of Alderaan's destruction, but what do you say to a survivor of such a disaster? Chewing on her lip for a moment, Jyn decides to approach the problem slantwise. "Baze—he's the one in that vid. He was from Jedha, you know."

Leia stiffens.

"Even before they destroyed Jedha, though, the Empire took his home." As they have taken Jyn's time and again, as they have taken so many others. "And on Scarif he lost... well, like I said, most of us lost our better halves. It's not fair to judge someone by how they look when faced with an enemy who did things like that."

"It's not. But no one ever said the universe was fair." Leia turns back to face Jyn. "You swear something like this isn't going to happen again?"

"I swear we will be on our best behavior. All of us." Jyn clasps her hands behind her back. "That's all I can promise."

"I'll hold you to that." Leia moves closer to Jyn, well within her personal space. "But for now... go take care of your team, Erso. Before they decide to blow something else up."

Jyn smiles, giving Leia a small salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Turning on her heel, Jyn leaves the room, breathing a sigh of relief at one more explosion dodged.

XXX

Bodhi picks his way carefully through the rows of X-wings and Y-wings, not wanting to disturb anyone's work. Pilots and mechanics are both milling about, creating a low humming buzz of conversation as everyone tries to keep the fleet battle-ready at a moment's notice.

Does Bodhi want to try to fly one of these? There was discussion about training him as a fighter pilot if he wished, but he's not sure who would actually be willing to do it. Or if he even wants it. Certainly he doesn't want to leave Rogue One. So long as Jyn and Baze are going out, Bodhi wants to go with them. And if they weren't...

Does he even have what it would take to be a fighter pilot? He's seen combat twice now, and both times he felt more terrified than exhilarated. Is that what it's supposed to be like?

He gets distracted, watching two droids and some kind of six-armed pilot tearing apart an X-wing. He doesn't pay enough attention to where he's going, and the next thing he knows he's literally walked into someone.

"Whoa there. Careful." Strong hands lock onto both Bodhi's biceps, and a human in an X-wing flight suit smiles at him before patting Bodhi on the back. "New recruit?"

"Um... no. Not quite." Bodhi returns the smile a little nervously. "Bodhi Rook."

"Oh. Rogue One, right?" The pilot's smile fades.

"The pilot." Bodhi smiles wistfully.

"Wedge Antilles." The fighter pilot holds out a hand.

"Antilles..." Bodhi takes the man's hand, pausing as he realizes why the name's familiar. "You were one of the ones who flew against the Death Star."

Wedge's smile takes on a different edge—wistful? Uncertain? "There were a lot of people who flew against the Death Star. Wouldn't have been able to do what we did without what Rogue One brought us, though."

How many of those who flew against the Death Star died? Half? It was some astronomical number like that, the kind of losses that would have been unthinkable against anything but a weapon of that magnitude.

How many did Antilles know well? Was it something like Scarif for him? If Bodhi were to ask him what he sees in his dreams—

"Uh, Bodhi?" Wedge looks down at the conjoined hands. "Mind stopping the handshake?"

"Oh, sorry." Bodhi quickly drops Wedge's hand. "And sorry for walking into you. I'm not sure where my mind was."

"Not a problem." Wedge claps him on the shoulder again. "Planning on joining us?"

"I've... thought about it." Bodhi swallows. "I just... don't know how good I'd be at it. I, ah... well..."

How can he tell someone that he doesn't know what it's like? That he's not certain if he'll be able to shoot others down? That he doesn't know if he'll be any good at being a fighter pilot because he can't ever seem to focus on anything other than just breathing during a firefight?

"It takes some getting used to. And it's not for everyone. Some people do better with more conventional ships, and we need all of those pilots we can get, too." Antilles raps his knuckles against a Y-wing's hull. "But if you ever do decide you want to see how one of these guys works... just let me know, all right? I'll be happy to help you."

"You don't think... you're not upset... about me being an Imperial?" Bodhi is never certain who will be bothered by his past and who won't be, and the importance of the Rogue One mission has made it hard to just keep his past a secret.

"You're not an Imperial. There are lots of people like you in the Rebellion." Wedge smiles, clapping Bodhi on the shoulder. "You're one of us—for better and worse. So keep my offer in mind, okay?"

Bodhi nods, watching for half a minute as Antilles walks away.

Bodhi is a rebel now, for better and worse, and hopefully Rogue One will be able to help make that a for the better.

XXX

Baze spends over an hour just watching the boy.

It shouldn't be him here.

The feeling is stronger than it's been in a long time—well, a relatively long time. Stronger than it's been since Baze woke up and realized Chirrut wouldn't. This is something that _Chirrut_ should do. This is something that Chirrut was _destined_ for.

Chirrut isn't here, though, and Baze is. Which means... what? That he should try to take up Chirrut's mantle?

Baze isn't Chirrut. He never will be, even if he tries.

But he was a guardian of the temple, once. And he loved a man dearly who would have given his right arm to be here. And there's no one else who can give even the small amount of guidance that Baze can, so...

Force help the boy, because Baze certainly doesn't think he'll be able to.

Skywalker knew that he was being watched. It's evident in the way his eyes flick to Baze as soon as Baze starts moving forward, in the uneasy smile that comes to settle across his face. Waving a hand in greeting, the young man's smile broadens. "Hi there."

Baze just stares at the boy, his words tying themselves in knots in his throat as he tries hard to force them to emerge.

"Uh... huh." Skywalker rubs at the back of his neck. "What's this about? If it's about the Death Star..."

"In part." The simple act of responding helps free a flood of sound. "When you made the run on the Death Star... the rumor is you used the Force."

"I did." Luke's smile broadens, losing its hesitant edge. "Never made a secret out of it, and don't intend to start now. You seem to have me at a disadvantage, though. Clearly I'm Luke Skywalker, but you are...?"

"Baze Malbus." Baze manages to choke out his name. "With—"

"Rogue One." Skywalker's expression changes yet again. He's so open—so _honest_. Every moment with him slices like razor wire against Baze's skin. "Leia told me about you guys. Said you got the Death Star plans for her. That without you, none of the rest of us would be here right now."

Baze doesn't want to talk about Rogue One or the Death Star or the mission where he lost half his soul. This boy's going to think he's rude at best, crazy at worst, but Baze tries once more to steer the conversation back where it needs to go. "Did you really use the Force? Do you have that ability?"

"Ah..." Luke wipes his hands off on a rag and shrugs. "I think I did? I didn't know much about the Force until a few weeks ago. Ben—Obi-Wan—there was this old man I knew, and it turns out he was a Jedi. And he said that I could be one too, like my father before me."

"Like your father..." Baze blinks. The Jedi he knew weren't supposed to be fathers, sons, wives, daughters. Family meant connections, attachments, danger—danger Baze feels far too familiar with now, after weeks without Chirrut at his side. "And do you think you are? A Jedi?"

Luke looks down at his now-clean hands and shrugs. "I don't know what the Jedi are. But when I did the Death Star run, I... felt something. Something vast and wondrous and..." Raising his head, Luke fixes Baze with those too-earnest eyes. "And I heard something. I haven't talked about it much because no one seems to know much about the Force and I don't want people to think I'm crazy, but... I heard Ben's voice. Even though Vader had already killed him. It felt like he was guiding me to feel what he'd been able to feel."

_Look to the Force. I'll be there._

Baze has to turn away, pacing a short distance before turning to head back to the boy who doesn't even know what the Jedi are and may be all that remains of their legacy. "You're certain? About what you felt? What you heard?"

Luke shrugs, his eyes nervous again as he watches Baze. "I try not to doubt my own senses unless there's reason to."

Forcing his breathing into a meditative rhythm, hoping it will help slow his heart and keep him from doing something foolish, Baze nods. "If you truly did use the Force to guide you... if you truly could be a Jedi... I'm from Jedha."

Luke thinks hard for a few seconds before shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I'm not familiar with it."

"No. Of course not." Baze's hands clench into fists. Can he blame the galaxy for forgetting Jedha in the horror that was Alderaan? Jedha was small, already ransacked and broken by the time the Empire decided to finish her off. Alderaan was one of the vibrant centers of the universe, populated by billions. Larger tragedies swallow smaller ones no matter how important the small one might be to you.

"It's nothing against the place, I'm sure it's great," Luke hastens to add. "I'm from Tattooine, though. Small little desert world you've probably never heard of. So except for some of the big ones and the planets closest to my own world, I don't know too much about the galaxy."

"Jedha was..." How does he describe his home—his life, his purpose, his destruction? "There was a temple there. The Temple of the Kyber, part of the Church of the Force. I... a man I loved was an acolyte there."

"Someone you lost." Skywalker's sympathy is written plain on his face, just like the rest of his emotions. "I'm sorry. But..." Sympathy gives way to excitement. "The Church of the Force—is it still there? It sounds like they'd know something about the Jedi, about—"

"The Empire destroyed Jedha. In their first test of the Death Star. There's nothing there for you now." Nothing for either of them. Nothing for anyone else. Perhaps some of their other contacts in the Church will know something. Baze was as familiar with them as Chirrut, for purely practical rather than spiritual reasons.

Grief, anger, disbelief... the reactions to hearing of destruction on the scale the Death Star created are so very similar and yet also so unique to each person. Should Baze be able to read more about Luke in how they play out? Should he be able to tell what kind of Jedi this boy could be? "I'm sorry. We'll make them pay for that, just like for Alderaan."

"I don't want to send you looking for revenge, baby Jedi." Baze growls out the words with more force than he means to, taking a step towards Skywalker. (He can't be responsible for destroying one of the last Jedi, for leading Chirrut's hope down the path to damnation and the Dark Side.)

"Okay." Skywalker skips back a step, holding his hands out. "What _do_ you want from me, then?"

Baze forces himself to stop, to hold still, looking down at the ground and slumping his shoulders in an attempt to make himself less intimidating. "Like I said, I know something about the Force. If you are what you say you are... maybe I can give you some tips."

Fingers spread, palms up in supplication, Luke smiles gently. "Any guidance on the Force would be appreciated. I feel like I'm fumbling around in the dark right now."

"That might not change even if I tell you everything I know." Baze mutters out the bitter words... and reaches once more for the paths that used to come so easily to him. His breathing is already steady, but he deepens it, lengthening the inhale and exhale phase. He doesn't close his eyes, but he allows them to lose focus.

He doesn't need his eyes for this. This is something that the blind have seen much more clearly than him for the last interminable years.

At first he thinks nothing is going to happen. That's the most common result of him trying to reach out to the Force now.

Then there's... something. A spark, a glimmer... a _brightness_ around the boy, and Baze's breath catches in his throat. Perhaps there is something about Skywalker, something—

Motion at the corner of his vision catches Baze off guard and he turns his head. Dark hair, a staff that the figure is leaning against, the too-familiar curve of a cheek, a _smile_ that is just what Baze would have expected from Chirrut on meeting someone like Skywalker—

Baze's focus falters, his eyes snapping into focus on empty air.

"Baze?" Skywalker takes a step towards him, concern in his voice. "What—"

Baze takes a step back.

Then he turns and runs, his footsteps sounding like thunderclaps chasing him through the rebel base.

XXX

"Erso!"

Jyn pauses, looking up at the unexpected sound of her name.

"Jyn Erso!" A young man comes skidding to a halt in front of her, doubling up to gasp in breaths when it becomes apparent she doesn't intend to run. "You're... Erso, right? Rogue One... commander?"

Jyn nods, watching the young man warily. He seems vaguely familiar, though she can't place where she's seen him. On a mission? At one of the medal ceremonies where the rebellion tries to stitch together the tattered remains of good teams into something still functional? "I'm Jyn Erso of Rogue One. But if you have a problem with my team—"

The young man shakes his head frantically, straightening up. "Baze... Malleus? Mallo? Malbus! Is there a Baze Malbus on your team? Big guy, dark hair, about yay high?"

Jyn nods.

"Are you... friends with him, by any chance?" The man's expression shifts, becoming more nervous and hesitant.

Jyn sighs. "Rogue One sticks together. Whoever Baze got into a fight with—assuming he's not currently in need of assistance?"

"No, he didn't get into a fight!" Waving hands join shaggy blond hair in giving a negation. "Well... at least he didn't get into a fight last I saw him. But he was... upset."

Rubbing a hand across her face, Jyn nods. "Any idea over what, or where he went?"

"I think... it was something I did. Or said. Or... maybe me just existing." The man shrugs. "I'm Luke Skywalker. He was asking me about the Force, saying he knew of a temple but it had been destroyed, and he had a dead friend who had been—"

Jyn steps forward, into Skywalker's personal space, her heart beating too hard in her throat. "What happened? What did you do?"

"I don't _know_." Luke holds his hands up. "We were having a weird but functional conversation. Then he started doing that meditative breathing thing Ben told me about, and looked at me, looked at the air next to him, and just... ran away." Skywalker shrugs helplessly. "He seemed really upset. So I figured as his commander you should know, and as his friend maybe..."

"Thank you." Jyn takes a step back, resisting the urge to curse. "I'll take care of it."

"Okay." Raising one hand in a brief wave, Skywalker heads back the way he had come.

Jyn pulls her portable comm from her pocket, calling Bodhi. "I don't suppose Baze is with you?"

"No?" Bodhi answers slowly. "Should he be?"

"I was hoping..." Jyn sighs, heading for Baze's quarters, though she doubts she's going to find the man there. "Apparently he went to talk with Skywalker. The guy calling himself a Jedi?"

"Oh. Is that... bad?"

"What's bad is that he decided he needed to run away from this kid that I could probably take with one hand tied behind my back." Jyn clips the end of her words, her agitation bleeding through despite her best efforts. "My guess is he just tried to pull some big spiritual scabs off. And I think we need to make sure he's not bleeding to death somewhere."

"I'm on my way." Bodhi pauses. "Where should I be on my way to?"

"Check the cafeteria. Maybe he just decided to drown his sorrows in food and drink. I'll meet up with you there."

"Got it." Bodhi pauses just for a moment. "It'll be all right, Jyn."

"Course it will." Jyn tries to sound nonchalant. "We won't let it be any other way."

XXX

They find Baze in the shuttle.

Bodhi probably should have expected that. It's not like Baze would want to return to his basically-empty quarters, and there aren't too many other places that belong to _them—_ to Rogue One.

He lets Jyn take point, following behind her as she strides down the center aisle towards where Baze is fiddling with his weapons, full armor strapped on.

No... not just _his_ weapons. Chirrut's staff is there, too, dragged out of storage.

"Hey, Baze." Jyn is trying to sound calm, Bohdi thinks, but there's too much tension in her shoulders for it to sound genuine. "What's going on?"

Baze continues to work on his gun. "Nothing."

"That's an awful lot of armor for nothing." Bohdi drops his eyes to the deck when Baze glares at him. "Though perhaps it's comfortable. Certainly means you don't have to worry if we need to muster quickly."

Jyn settles herself in the seat to Baze's left. "I heard you went to talk to someone today."

Bodhi sits on Baze's other side, having felt too awkward as the only one standing.

Baze allows the gun to settle down on the floor, sighing and closing his eyes. "Who told you?"

"Skywalker." Jyn kicks her right leg out in front of her. "He was a little... worried."

Baze grunts, continuing to stare down at the weapon.

Bodhi glances at Jyn, who frowns at Baze and then shrugs.

Right. Neither of them is really good at this sort of thing. So maybe Bodhi should just ask the question that's been clamoring at the forefront of his thoughts. "Is it true that Skywalker might be a Jedi?"

"He's no Jedi." Baze's scowl deepens, but Bodhi can see just a faint tremor in his hands. "But... he might have some potential. Assuming he doesn't go Dark Side. Assuming he can actually reach it." The trembling increases, and Baze lifts his eyes to the ceiling. "Chirrut would have been thrilled to meet him."

"Is that why..." Jyn sighs. "Just because you thought about Chirrut?"

The full force of Baze's glare transfers itself to Jyn. "Careful what you say _just_ about, little sister. And... no. It wasn't..."

Bodhi reaches out to touch Baze's arm, just beneath where the armor stops. "What happened, Baze? If something can spook you this bad... if it can happen again..."

"It won't happen again." The firm conviction in Baze's voice gives way to something almost like despair. "I tried... I wanted to see if Skywalker really had the potential. If he could be a Jedi. I was never as good at sensing as Chirrut was, but I thought..."

"You couldn't do it?" Jyn places a hand atop one of Baze's.

"No. I did it. At least... I think I did. For the first time in..." Baze's head drops, and he shakes it, hair flying about his face. "Skywalker has the potential, I think. But I also saw... I thought I saw..."

"Chirrut." Bodhi breathes out the name.

"I can't see it now—see _him_ now. I panicked and I ran and..." Baze lifts his free hand, clenching it into a fist and then releasing it. "Like sand through my fingers. That's my faith and connection to the Force."

"But... you did see him." Jyn squeezes Baze's hand. "He was _here_. With you. Just like he said he'd be."

Baze is shaking his head by the time Jyn says _here._ "He was watching Skywalker. He would have been so thrilled to find someone like that kid. And he would have been such a good mentor... infuriating, but good..."

Silence descends between the three of them, thick with the ghosts of those they've lost.

"Are you..." Bodhi watches for Baze's reaction, ready to stop if Baze needs him to. "Will you try to teach Skywalker instead?"

"Me, a teacher of the Force?" Baze points at himself. "You know me, Bodhi. Would you inflict me on someone like that?"

"Yes." Bodhi doesn't back down. "I think, if you wanted to, you could be a damn good mentor."

Jyn pats Baze's knee. "I agree with him. But no one's going to force you to. And we don't want you to do it if it's going to hurt every time."

"I just... need some time to think." Baze lowers his head again. "To figure out what I should do. What I _want_ to do."

"There's time." Bodhi smiles hesitantly. "For once."

"There is." Jyn nods agreement, reaching into one of her pockets. "And I have a deck of cards. So if you'd like to pass a little bit of time with us..."

Baze's smile as he looks from Jyn to Bodhi could light a whole planet for a month.

XXX

This time Baze doesn't stalk his prey. He just marches up to the Skywalker boy, planting himself where the younger man can't help but notice him.

"Hey, Baze." Skywalker smiles at him as though Baze hadn't gone charging off with his tail between his legs last time.

"I'd like to give you the information that I have. About the Force." Baze adds the clarification hastily. "If you'd be interested in learning."

"Yes. Anything. Please."

Baze nods. "It won't be much. And I'm shit at the practical aspect—at actually connecting to and using the Force. But I can give you the basics, and give you a list of people who might be able to give you more."

Luke grins. "Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me."

"I can imagine. To those who want it, information about the Force is rain on parched ground." Baze glances around. "Preferences on location?"

Luke considers for a moment. "Somewhere quiet, without an audience."

"We could always... use Rogue One's shuttle." Baze makes the offer hesitantly.

"If you wouldn't mind." Luke gives a flourishing bow. "Then lead the way, o master."

"Don't call me master." Baze huffs out a breath. "Jedi passed down their knowledge mentor to student. This Ben you mentioned—he might have been your master. Me, I'm a third-rate priest."

"I doubt that." Luke smiles a bit as he follows close behind Baze. "But you can call yourself whatever you want. I'm just... really glad to have someone to talk to about all this weirdness."

"It won't feel so weird when you've got a better idea what you're dealing with." Though Baze has said over and over that the Force is useless, for some reason he dislikes hearing Luke call it weird. "Now, tell me what your master told you."

Luke begins a halting account of a bare-bones initiation that leaves Baze more than a little horrified, and the two of them settle down in the shuttle to discuss what they both know.

Baze might not be the best mentor in the world, but maybe, just maybe, he'll be better than nothing.

XXX

"Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes!" Bodhi's eyes flash across the console, taking in the many, many indicators that have been stuck in the red for what feels like an eternity. "We're almost there. We're almost—"

The hyperdrive dies, a shower of sparks from the console and a sudden shrieking shift in the noise that the shuttle is making. For a few seconds Bodhi is certain that they're dead. Then he blinks at the abused console, trying to clear sparks from his vision, and decides that they're still alive.

"What happened, Bodhi?" Jyn's voice comes from behind him, where she and Baze are strapped in properly.

"Hyperdrive died." Bodhi shakes his head. "We're close to our rendezvous, but I don't know if we'll make it on sub-light."

"Might as well try." Jyn begins unhooking herself. "And I'll see what I can do about getting us back—"

Something goes _clunk_ , and then _hiss_ , and a new set of indicators begins flashing red on the console.

"Oh no." Bodhi stares down at it. "Oh no."

"What?" Baze has unbuckled himself, too, plopping down between the pilot's and copilot's seat to stare at the monitors. "Oh, just great. I should've known better than to tell Skywalker I'd be back to give another lesson today."

"That's not..." Jyn's face has paled. "Bodhi, tell me that's not what I think it is."

"That depends." Bodhi winces. "Do you think that's the sound of us venting atmosphere?"

"Where from?" Jyn begins running her hands along seams in the ship.

"From..." Bodhi shakes his head. "Too many places. She's just... we took too much damage. We're not—"

"We're going to try, Bodhi." Baze's hand falls on Bodhi's shoulder. "That's all we can do."

It's been four months since Baze began working with Skywalker. Four months since they all swore repeatedly that they were of sound mind and body and wanted to continue on as Rogue One. Four months of repeated, successful missions where they've proven themselves, and maybe that's the problem. Bodhi had started to relax, to become confident—to _believe_ in their team, their mission, their purpose—and the universe is going to make him regret that.

Jyn already has a spray can out and is feeling for leaks, trying to caulk any that she finds. Baze joins her. Bodhi considers getting up to assist them, but if he does that they'll be dead in space.

"Get us closer to home." Baze barks the order back to Bodhi.

"I can do that." Bodhi begins coaxing what life he can out of the shuttle, trying not to put too much stress on her. "I can definitely do that."

If he can't... well, half of _home_ has been gone for months now, so maybe it won't be so bad if the other half joins them.

XXX

With the atmosphere they lose heat. They lose oxygen. They lose everything that makes human life _possible_ , and Jyn shouldn't be surprised when she starts hallucinating.

"Just there, Jyn." Cassian smiles as her trembling fingers direct the stream of sealant. "Yes. Perfect. Now on to the next one."

"Cassian." Jyn smiles, though the expression fades after a moment's puzzled reflection. "You can't be here."

"Oh?" Cassian arches an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because you're dead." Jyn crawls forward on her elbows, finding the next crack in their cabin integrity by feel. "Dead people aren't allowed to be here."

Cassian gives her a bemused grin. "Not concerned that _you're_ dead?"

"Dead people don't need to breathe. I'm breathing. So I'm not dead." Jyn's hands are shaking almost too much for her to seal the breach, but she manages. They don't need to keep the whole ship sealed, after all—just their little part of it. "Am I dying?"

"Maybe. Possibly." Cassian guides her another few crawling steps along the wall, pointing to an area where ice is starting to form intricate crystal patterns. The crystal hidden under her shirt seems to grow warmer as he does. "But not if we can help it."

"I didn't want you to die, Cassian." The words come tumbling out, the pain that would normally accompany them feeling distant and foggy.

"I know." The words are spoken gently as Cassian points at her hand. The one with the sealant canister. The one she needs to do something with, but moving is so hard. "You tried your best. And it's really not so bad."

"You were afraid." Jyn realizes she's crying when her tears freeze to her eyelashes. "You were so afraid, and I couldn't find the words to make you feel better. I couldn't _do_ anything. I couldn't—"

"You tried, Jyn." Cassian's hand reaches out, seems to cup her face, but all Jyn feels is a flood of warmth. "And you gave me something I had begun to give up on having. I died loved, with a team that cared about me, after doing something that wasn't just _necessary_ but _right_."

"I miss you." Jyn's teeth chatter together, making the words all but incomprehensible.

"I miss you, too. But I'm never far. I'm always right here. I'll be right here, waiting, for as long as you need." Cassian's hand moves to cover hers. "Come now. Let's see if we can keep you alive for a little bit longer."

With Cassian's hand covering hers, Jyn is able to seal one more hole before light gives way to darkness, and she tumbles forward into unconsciousness.

XXX

Jyn takes the low road and Baze takes the high road, trying to salvage as much of their atmosphere as they can—to buy themselves as much time as they can. When Jyn starts mumbling to herself, Baze tries to call out a reassurance, but he can't draw breath enough to manage.

When she collapses, he tries to hurry to her side, but only succeeds in stumbling forward a step before going to his knees.

They're going to die here.

The realization brings with it a strange sense of calm. Is this what Baze has been waiting for, then? Is this where things are supposed to end—with the last of the Jedi given at least the inklings of an idea of what he can do, with their mission complete, with their ragtag team still somehow together?

"You weren't always so quick to give up, you know."

Baze closes his eyes. He recognizes this feeling—this warmth, this brightness, this _energy_ and _joy_. "Chirrut. You're here."

"I'm always here with you, Baze." Someone settles down on the ground next to Baze, a rustle of fabric that isn't quite real. (He joined with the Force. His corpse didn't disappear, as the tales say that the true Jedi did, but he is where he has always belonged anyway.)

Turning over on his side, Baze holds out a hand to Chirrut.

Chirrut takes it, his fingers dancing over Baze's skin as they used to do, and smiles. His eyes don't look directly at Baze.

"Doesn't being... dead... cure blindness?" It's getting harder and harder to breath, Baze's chest aching with each inhalation.

"I'm not sure. You'll have to tell me." Chirrut's words have a teasing edge to them as his fingers dance up Baze's arm, across his face, tracing over his eyes. "I see just as well as I ever have."

For just an instant there are galaxies flying across Chirrut's eyes, nova and black holes and stellar nurseries, humans and twi'leks and wookies and a thousand other faces. Then they are just Chirrut's eyes again, kind and fierce.

"I've tried." The words are more a suggestion than an actual sound, not enough air in Baze's lungs to form them, not enough air to carry them even if there were. "To teach him. Your Jedi."

"He's not mine, Baze." Though Chirrut's eyes have returned to normal, they still don't focus on Baze's as Chirrut leans down and presses a kiss to Baze's forehead. "He belongs to a great many people. Maybe he even belongs to the universe. But he's yours more than he's mine."

"I tried." Baze repeats the words, not sure if they're a plea for understanding, for acknowledgment, for approval. Maybe all three.

"I know." This time Chirrut's lips meet Baze's, a soft press of warmth through skin that feels frozen. "Thank you. Now rest, Baze. The light's always here waiting for you."

Baze curls into Chirrut's hold, and everything else dissolves around them—no more shuttle, no more disaster, no more Rogue One—leaving just a golden field of warm light.

It feels like coming home. It feels like _before_ , when they stood together in the Temple, when Baze would practice meditation and reach out and feel _something—_ this beautiful, big, immense Force outside himself.

Home is something more now, though. "The others..."

"Are being taken care of." Chirrut's hand threads gently through Baze's hair. "You can trust me on that."

There are very few people in the universe that Baze trusts, but Chirrut is definitely one of them, so he allows himself to sink into the warmth and, for the first time in a long time, rests easily.

XXX

"Close. Close." Bodhi can't read the displays anymore, but he doesn't need to. He's a good pilot. He knows where he's going. "We're so close."

"You're going to make it, Bodhi." Galen smiles at him, reaching out to place his warm hand atop Bodhi's cold one. "Just keep doing what you've always done. Just keep going forward."

"I've t-tried." Bodhi's breath isn't fogging the air in front of him anymore. That's a good thing, right? "I did what you said. I've tried to become someone I can l-live with."

"You're a brave man. A _good_ man." Galen's other hand comes to rest atop Bodhi's, guiding him once more.

"I met your daughter. She's good. Strange. But good." Bodhi blinks, but nothing seems to want to come into focus aside from Galen. "You should have gotten to see her again."

"I did. Because of you, I saw my Stardust. Because of you, my name isn't _just_ synonymous with mass genocide. Because of you, Bodhi, the universe has _hope_." Galen reaches out with one hand to touch Bodhi's cheek. "So remember to hold on to some hope for yourself."

"I do. I have." Bodhi tries to nod back to where Jyn and Baze are working, and then finds that his head doesn't want to move forward again. "There's so much hope in the rebellion. Built on hope, Cassian said. Hope and bodies and blood."

"Cling to that hope." Galen tilts Bodhi's head back down into a more comfortable position, his arm coming to rest around Bodhi's shoulders.

Bodhi smiles. "I will."

Then he sleeps, but the dreams that he has are bright and peaceful, and he knows he'll have to thank Galen for that in the future.

XXX

Baze wakes up.

He's not in a bacta tank this time, but otherwise the rebel medical corp hasn't really upgraded their facilities. There are still wires strung across the ceiling, and a muted cacophony of noises from too many people compressed into too small an area.

The sound of grinding metal draws Baze's eyes to the right, and he's not surprised to see Bodhi fiddling with some poor abused piece of a ship.

"Welcome back, Baze." Jyn smiles when Baze turns to the left to meet her gaze.

Baze grunts. "We're alive?"

"I certainly hope so." Bodhi glances around. "If we're having to fight the rebellion for eternity, I want to submit a complaint to the Force."

"I don't think we will be." Jyn looks down at her hands. "Though... I think maybe we can still help, even after we're gone."

Bodhi's head comes up. Jyn _smiles_ , a strange little pleased expression. Baze clenches his fingers around a hand that isn't there.

They don't talk about it, though. The moment passes, looks of understanding exchanged, and then Jyn clears her throat. "Skywalker's been by to see how you're doing."

Baze sighs. "How're you two already on your feet?"

"Apparently bodies don't like almost dying." Bodhi shrugs. "Almost dying twice in half a year is... bad for your health."

"Our rendezvous found us. Bodhi got us close enough, and they were able to retrieve both us and our mission objective." Jyn grimaces. "Though I think the Rogue One shuttle's done for. We're going to have to find ourselves a new ship."

"We can do that." Baze sits up with a grunt of effort, trying not to let on that the world spins alarmingly when he does.

"I hope you don't..." Bodhi swallows, his hands clenching together in front of him. "You don't mind that you were saved this time, do you? I mean..."

Baze closes his eyes, allowing his breathing to even out into the meditative rhythm. Is that glimmer of blue-gold on the edge of his awareness really there? Are those strands of light tying him to Jyn and to Bodhi?

Maybe they're not. Maybe they're just what Baze _wants_ to be there.

But maybe, for now... that's all that matters.

"If you'd asked me last time... well." Baze shrugs. "I probably would have said to let me sleep and wake me when the whole damn war's over. But now..."

Jyn's hand sneaks into his left one; Bodhi's is in his right a moment later.

"Now..." Baze sighs. "I'm glad to be home with you two."

He still misses Chirrut. He will always miss Chirrut, he thinks—his kindness, his strength, his surety, his humor. He will always miss what Chirrut represented—the Jedi, the Temple, the Church.

But Chirrut will be waiting for him in the vast warmth that is the light side of the Force, and for now... for a little bit... Baze can call this little ragtag family home instead.


End file.
